


Freindship [Intentional Spelling]

by Dedicate Kiwicrocus (cranky__crocus)



Series: SMACKDOWN '11 Round Two - Team Discipline [32]
Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/F, Gen, Goldenlake, smackdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-02
Updated: 2011-06-02
Packaged: 2017-10-20 01:24:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/207315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cranky__crocus/pseuds/Dedicate%20Kiwicrocus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lark starts a diary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freindship [Intentional Spelling]

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SMACKDOWN at Goldenlake: fiefgoldenlake.proboards.com

Dedicate Starweave in the Earth Loomhouse had been the one to suggest a diary to Paraskeve, when some of the louder sounds of the building could remind her of times long-gone and startle her into mistakes. Starweave thought it would settle her, having the thoughts down on paper.

            One problem was, Paraskeve kept getting distracted. She was tucked up in bed with a stack of paper against a chalk slate, writing with quill and ink—dangerous in bed, but she trusted the cloth to keep the ink steady for her. Her distraction was Niva, across the room and tucked into her own bed, reading a book.

            Additionally, it was difficult to write about her experiences when she was only just beginning to write and read. Her sentences were very simple. They were also about her distraction.

            _Her hair is nice_ , Paraskeve scribbled onto the page, her hand-writing messy and uneven. Niva fidgeted in her bed and turned her page harder than was necessary.

            _I like her cheek has colour._ This took her longer and she saw she’d forgotten a word. When Paras glanced up, Niva was blushing and re-crossing her legs.

            _She is a freind._ Niva closed her book and placed it on her bedside table.

            _Her lips_

            “Are moving,” Niva stated, drawing Paraskeve’s attention away.

            Paras jolted back, surprised; the ink did not move. “How did you know?”

            “You’re nearly tearing the paper with your quill—and what do you think paper is made of?” Niva tapped her foot.

            “Anguish, frustration and future spelling mistakes,” Paraskeve answered. She plucked up her ink bottle and moved over so Niva could join her on the bed.

            “That too. But also plants.” Niva took Paras’ second quill and dipped it in the ink, writing _‘friend_ ’ over Paraskeve’s mistake. “I’m your friend, not your freind—makes it sounds like I’m a fiend.” She paused to look at Paras, biting at her lip in curiosity. “What are you doing, anyway? Clearly not an assignment.”

            Paraskeve laughed, but it softened and dispersed not long after as she recalled the inspiration for her journal. “Dedicate Starweave caught me getting jumpy and frightened in the loud loomhouse, so she thought I should write down some of the memories that startled me, so I could know they are out of sight.”

            Niva nodded. “But you didn’t tell her you can’t write yet.”

            “No. I try not to make that public knowledge, since you all here can do it.” Paras took a breath and sighed out her frustration. “And I am _learning_.”

            “Do you want help? If you speak slowly, I can write for you.” Niva’s gaze was earnest as she held the quill between them.

            “It won’t all be nice. Some of it is dark.”

            Niva drew a breath as well. “My best friend was raped; I was nearly kidnapped. I know the world isn’t sunshine and Water-Dedicate rainbows.”

            This drew a laugh from Paraskeve. She nodded. Niva placed the used page on the bed and started on the next. She had to ask Paraskeve for the spelling of Zalai—they both smiled at that, and Paras was proud to know—but otherwise it went smoothly.

            When it was time for lights out, she heard Niva whisper, “Do you really think I have nice hair?”

            Paras smiled and touched it once; the smile widened when Niva did not immediately yank away. “I do. It’s pretty and, as I _wanted_ to write, reminds me of expensive Zalai cloth that noblewomen wore.” Niva’s cheeks flushed with colour again. “And now your cheeks are—”

            “I know. And my lips are done moving. Goodnight, Paraskeve.”

            “Goodnight, Niva.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! C:


End file.
